LIBRARY OF CONGRESS. 

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UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. 



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Mm OF TONa, 



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PIPES OF CORN. 



A COLLECTION OF MISCELLANEOUS VERSE. 



GEORGE P. GUERRIER. 



'Playing on pipes of corn." — Shakspeare. 




? G^ ■ ■ 






Copyright, 1880, 
By GEORGE P. GUERRIER. 



Stereotyped and printed by Rand, Avery, &" Co., 
Boston. 



TO 

HENRY W. LONGFELLOW, 

IN RESPECTFUL AND GRATEFUL ACKNOWLEDGMENT OF 
KIND AND ENCOURAGING WORDS, IS 

Cfjts tribute of £riflcs 

OF A HUMBLE MUSE DEDICATED BY 
THE AUTHOR. 

Boston, July, 1880. 



TO MY BROTHER. 



My heart is knit with thine, my brother; 

My heart is knit with thine : 
With thee for friend, though ne'er another, 

I will not o'er my lot repine. 

A thousand miles betwixt us lie; 

Long years have fled since last we met: 
But what is distance to our tie, 

Or life itself, where love is set ? 

As though close by, thy pulse I feel; 

Thou, too, dost know what mine may be; 
And, oh! there is a grip of steel, 

If aught assaileth me or thee. 

Then on us wave or wind may beat, 

Of fortune or of fate unkind : 
Together we the shock will meet, 

And in each other solace find. 



Boston, Dec. i, 1876. 



CONTENTS. 



i. 

PAGE 

The Cottage * . 3 

The Classic Farmer. (Fragment.) 8 

The Strawberry-Patch ....... 12 

Simple Pleasures 14 

II. 

King and Queen 19 

Oh, Those Shirts! 24 

III. 

"Like the Billowy Swell," &c 27 

Awakenings 29 

After Storm 31 

Fond Imagination ^3 

Gone Away 35 

Pull up the Blind ........ 36 

The Summer Rain yi 

The Faded Waterproof 39 

The Oar 42 

On board Yacht "Firefly" 44 

v 



VI CONTENTS. 

PAGE 

In my Macaulay 46 

A Retrospect 48 

In the Meadow 50 

The Prairie 51 

Custer and his Men 53 

" She hath gone," &c 56 

An Autumn Morn 58 

Autumn Leaves 60 

Marguerite 61 

Johnny Lee 63 

The Rose-Berry . 65 

The Poor Man's Appeal 67 

Autumn Branches 68 

The Alpine Watch 69 

The Squire and his Vis-X-vis 72 

The Snow-Maiden 74 

The Dying Year 75 

IV. 

The Cinnamon-Rose 79 

The Lily 81 

Alexis 82 

" Oh for a Breath," &c 84 

V. 

{SONNETS.) 

To A Bluebird 89 

On a Vase of Ferns 90 



CONTENTS. 



VII 



To the East Wind, &c. 

To our Secretary and Friend 

In my Shakspeare 

A Petition 

On Song 



VI. 

(HUMOROUS. y 
Trowbridge and his Anchor . 
A Mosquito Legend .... 



VII. 
{SONGS.) 
"I Love thee, Darling" 
"Hast thou not," &c. . 
One can aye content me 
" Home is where," &c. . 
Love's Armor . 
Take Heart . 
The Secret Kiss 
Flight of Time 
The Old Song 
A Kiss is aye the Same 
Skating-Song . 
"Oh, would the Power," &c. 
The Turning Leaf * 



PAGE 

91 
92 

93 
94 
95 



99 
in 



117 
118 
119 
120 
122 
123 
124 
126 
127 
128 

130 

132 

*33 



Wi)t (Cottage." 



I TERE against a mossy rock 
** * Doth a modest dwelling stand, 
Braced and framed the years to mock, 
With the fairest in the land. 



Through a gate, across a field, 
Up a sudden steep of stairs : 

So the portal's gained to yield 
Prospect breaking unawares. 

Fronting southward is the sea, 
Whither winds a river down 

Belts of wood and breadth of lea, 
Where the waters meet a town. 

3 



THE COTTAGE. 

All around is snug abode, 
In the vale or on the rise ; 

Northward curves an elm-girt road, 
Leading where a village lies. 

Here a terrace, Nature's own, 

Formed upon the rocks complete, 

With some rude-cut steps of stone, 
Fit to be a poet's seat; 

Looking where the idle craft 
Lie, or shift about the stream ; 

Looking where the zephyrs waft 
Cloud-fleets to the land of dream ; 

Looking where the shadows creep 
Over orchards and gray walls ; 

Looking where the old well-sweep 
Picture of the past recalls. 

And how rare that canvas spread 
By Imagination's hand, 



THE COTTAGE, 

With some witness to the dead, 
Or the bygones of a land ! 

So, as may some minstrel sage 
Grace a history by his rhyme, 

Doth this cot with pleasing page 
Tell the tale of olden time. 

Broad the hearth for ample sticks, 
With the beam and pendent chain, 

With the oven in the bricks, 

With the pot-hooks and the crane. 

Safe enshrined the garret stores 
Many a former household god : 

Spinning-wheels and tiers of drawers, 
Goods and garments quaint and odd, 

Speak of vanished busy days, 
When dwelt here a humble pair, 

Lending with their simple ways 
To the charm of ancient air. 



THE COTTAGE. 

Many a trifle carved is proof 
Of the goodman's thrifty skill ; 

Many a makeshift 'neath the roof 
Ovvneth to his patient will. 

'Tis a huge strap-hinge, time-worn, 

That across a door is laid, 
Trusty friend from night till morn, — 

Now to be a bar is made. 

Little wickets scattered round, 
Hooks of wire bent deftly on, 

Keep intact the garden ground 
Whence the frugal bread was won. 

And the brush-worn sashes show 

How the good dame loved to scour ; 

Whilst the several patches grow 
Still her wealth of vine and flower. 

Yea, for though the stranger's mood 
Doth the various relics own, 



THE COTTAGE. 

Tis not his to slight the good 
Which the rustic hand hath done. 

He, from many a pensive rest 
Fostered by the cottage-door, 

Riseth with a debt confest 
To the graces known of yore. 



THE CLASSIC FARMER. 
\ 



2Tfje Classic Jarmcr. 

A NEW-ENGLAND IDYL. 



[fragment.] 

" Such themes as these the rural Maro sung 
To wide imperial Rome in the full height 
Of elegance and taste by Greece refined." 

The Seasons. 

TOEHOLD him at the awakening voice of spring ! 

*-* Early he seeks the barn : horses and kine 

Are scrupulously curried ; and the floor 

Well swept, with order's seal on all things set. 

Anon he sallies forth with pruning-kit, 

Conferring grace and worth (no bits of limbs 

Unsightly left to mar the symmetry 

And growth, but close-cut with a well-trimmed scar). 

With what good surgeon zest he makes the grafts, 

Incorporating scion deftly shaped 

By knife keen-edged, and ligature well bound ! 

Or he equips himself with spading-fork 

To delve round currant-bush, pear, apple tree, 



THE CLASSIC FARMER. 9 

Getting the grateful smell of the up-turned soil, 

Or aromatic odors of the weeds, 

Seeing rich-fruited lichens and rare moss, 

Stirring the larvae from their hiding-place, 

Whereby the robin, prominent, and pert 

Of many gleaners, makes a gladsome feast. 

Songsters and the flowers are his almanac, — 

Bluebird, blackbird, the thresher, bobolink, — 

A tithe alone whose notes to him the sign 

Of various stages in the seasons' march ; 

Or dates the day by the arbutus found, 

The uvularia, columbine, or pink. 

See with what vigor he those tusks controls 

Of cultivator, dog-grass tearing out 

With all the insidious tribe of gardeners' foe$ ! 

Now 'mongst the vegetables, now the vines, — 

The arched and trellissed Concord, Muscadine, — 

Pausing anon with zealous eye and hand 

To pinch some shoot, or seal the spoiler's doom. 

His rest how sweet ! at eventide retired 

Near by wistaria's bloom, or rose, or shrub 

Sweet-scented, to the hyla's pipe attent, 



10 THE CLASSIC FARMER. 

The bullfrog's bass, and droning of the beetle ; 

Or ramble meditative, worshipping 

The Source profound of silence and the stars. 

Hail, morn of June ! what fount of bliss art thou 

To him who greets thee midst the sheen of trees ! , 

'Tis fitting that the setter velvet-toed 

Should tread, though the irreverent beast heeds 

naught 
But compass straight, to steer for where fowl lodge, 
And wistfully to watch their coming forth. 
The swallows, skimming in and out the mows, 
Twitter thy praise to nestlings in the roof; 
The bees in whispered music breathe thy lay; 
The orchard blossoms blaze it pink and white. 

Now see the goodman armed with tufted lance 

To seek around for caterpillars' tents, 

And balk their raids ! Would that with equal ease 

He might frustrate curculio's maggot sting ! 

For then we should not mourn the loss of plum, 

Of ripe- cheeked apple rotten at the heart ; 

Though such regrets are mercies in disguise, 



THE CLASSIC FARMER. II 

Spurring to research and its healthful prize. 
Who may attempt to praise his strawberries, 
Dew-christened from the vine, or laved in cream ? — 
Pretext for many a friendly gathering, 
Or for the interchange of tender vows. 

Some gracious shower by sou'-west wind decrees 
Dream of sequestered pond where pickerel haunt ; 
And morrow's meal perchance will see perdu 
The preyer now in turn become the prey. 

Can pen portray the budding Summer's charms, 

Her days of prime, the scent of new-mown hay, 

The luxury of cooling juicy fruits, 

The dolce far niente of the noon ? 

Of Autumn, jocund in the yellow field, 

Or pensive in the robe of sear and brown, 

With all the varied gifts to him 

The observant gatherer of Heaven's gifts benign? 

His W r inter has the sheltered woodland work, 

The cosey fireside seat with jovial chat, 

The tinkling sleigh-ride, and long days of rest. 



12 THE STRAWBERRY-PATCH. 



" For me the herbs and fruits suffice ; 

Nor wealth nor state I crave: 

Give me a healthful frame of mind, 

A calm path to the grave. 
Son of Latona, hear my prayer! 
These with his lyre the poet spare." 

Horace, 31^ Ode, 

\ WHEELBARROW my throne, 
**■** The golden-rod my plume, 
A strawberry-patch my realm, 
The free air my perfume. 

I take in shade of bush 

My lunch of fruits and bread, 

A right rich canopy 

Of autumn blue o'erhead. 

My cup a tortoise-shell, 

Filled from the purling stream; 



THE STRAWBERRY-PATCH. 1 3 

A fleecy build of cloud 

Food for sweet fancy's dream. 

Talk not of art's display, 

Of sumptuous dining-hall : 
Give me the blue-jay's note, 

The cat-bird's mimic call, 

The feast with trees and vines, 

And roving butterflies, 
The harvest-fly's fierce pipe, 

The cricket's pert replies. 

No richer fare I crave, 

For nothing better pray, 
Than strawberries to rule, 

With leisure for my lay. 



14 SIMPLE PLEASURES. 



Simple pleasures, 

'pHIS draught of water 
-*■ From the spring 
Hath more for me 

Than wine could bring. 

This mattock clayey 

At my side 
I would not yield 

For sceptred pride. 

To have my freedom 

In the air 
Contenteth me 

For fortune rare. 

With joyous warblers, 
Dun or gay; 



SIMPLE PLEASURES. 1 5 

With breezy heights 
Set far away; 

With thrifty homestead, 

Mistress true, — 
Have back thy smile, 

Thou bonny blue i 



II. 



KING. 

T^HE hearth is bright, the blinds are down, 
-*• The day's due task is o'er; 
I wear mine own wit-purchased crown, 
And am the slave no more. 

I stretch my sceptre forth, and, lo ! 

A hundred ready stand 
To do for rne, or to or fro, 

The service I command. 

This one the beater of my blade, 

With which I hold my way, — 
Fresh-tempered, and of metal made 

To fail not in the fray. 

19 



20 KING AND QUEEN. 

This one my helmet hath in care, 
My breastplate tried, of steel; 

And none may doubt their power to bear 
The worst that weapons deal. 

My herald this, the first in place, 

Whose office 'tis to tell 
Of feats of arms, and of the grace 

Which fights the battle well. 

(For oh ! it is my chief concern 

To know a soldier's part, 
And make the flame aspiring burn 

Which smoulders in my heart, 

That I may be with grace endowed 

To gain yon dizzy height, 
And from the castle there so proud 

Possess my ancient right.) 

With all that serves to knightly skill, 
My men upon me wait; 






KING AND QUEEN 21 

For nothing would we have of ill 
Disturb our fair estate. 



QUEEN. 

But who is this amidst the throng, 

So shy, and yet so fair, 
That like a zephyr steals along, 

Refreshing unaware? 

White is her kirtle, ruddy-red 
Her cheeks and lips, her eyes 

Deep-hued with sovereign passion fed, 
And lofty as the skies. 

A thing she seemeth half divine, 
Half mortal, half of heaven ; 

A draught of consecrated wine 
The heart forlorn to leaven. 

Yet why portray the picture out, 
Or need to ask her name? 



22 KING AND QUEEN 

Is she not dear beyond all doubt? 
Her love fore'er the same? 

Hath she not been my constant friend 
Through many a tedious year, — 

The one bright ray of hope to send 
Along the path, and cheer? 

Yea, she, — the blessed shape I see : 
From her the shadow flees : 

One glance of hers can gladden me 
Like sunlight on the trees. 

One glance doth every woe redeem, 

Relieves from every thrall. 
Ho ! to your cups ! The queen supreme 

Would hold a festival. 

Conduct her to the ivory throne 
That tops my chair of state ; 

Open be every portal thrown, 
Palace and prison-gate ! 



KING AND QUEEN 2$ 

And let the workers leave their hives ; 

The great lay down their care ; 
The fettered wretch escape his gyves, 

And taste of freedom's air ; 

The babe forget its mother's breast ! 

O happy minstrel ! tell, 
There is nor prize nor any quest 

Beyond my lady's spell. 



24 0H t THOSE SHIRTS! 



" TTAVE you heard the news, children? 
-*- -* Father is ordered abroad, — 
Ordered abroad by the firm he is with. 
Oh, those shirts ! 

"He must cross the perilous ocean, 
Leaving us quite of a sudden. 
Why not a day or so later? 
Oh, those shirts ! 

"How we shall sigh in his absence ! 
Weeks and weeks to be from us ! 
God send him home again safe ! 
Oh, those shirts 1" 



III. 



" ILffee tje Billofog Sfoell," Set. 

T IKE the billowy swell of the land I behold, 
^ Clothed with calm is the breast of my love : 
O shepherd that guideth the flock to the fold ! 
So broods o'er me my dove. 

As the wolf from the shepherd flees my care, 
Mine own ! with thy proffered lips, 

With the touches that trickle amongst my hair, 
Of thy fond fairy finger-tips. 

And the robin may warble his solacing lay, 
And bless me the beautified West; 

But thine are the charms with fullest sway, 
Sweetheart, to woo to rest. 

27 



28 



"LIKE THE BILLOWY SWELLS 



Like the billowy swell of the land I behold, 
Clothed with calm is the breast of my love : 

shepherd that guideth the flock to the fold ! 
So broods o'er me my* dove. 



A WAKENINGS. 2g 



Stoafeenings. 

HPHE violets and columbine and saxifrage have 
-■* come : 

I hear the partridge in the woods, with his recurring 

" drum ; " 
Lush grows the grass, anew each day, 
Beneath the happy tears of May. 

Along the curving path I tread 
Of field and copse on spongy bed, 
And see the broken scud depart 
Which drew me forth with cheery heart. 

All things are glad. I heed the notes 
More golden grown from songster-throats; 
I mark the brook, with flash and leap, 
Go hurtling, winding down the steep. 



30 A WAKENINGS. 

And yonder, by the angled fence, 
Leans smiling Maud, in shy pretence 
To see him not she came to meet, 
With downcast eyes and blushes sweet. 



AFTER STORM. 3 1 



after Storm. 



T 



IE lingering storm hath hied him to his lair, 



And left to winning peace the harried land ; 
Of pinks and roses tells the perfumed air, 

Breathed through the casement by the morning 
bland. 

Announced by robin, meadow-lark, and quail, 
By oriole and thrush, — one gladsome strain, — 

Lo ! June the unrivalled, from behind her veil, 
Peeps blushing forth with her blue eyes again. 

How like a bride she is, all pink and white ! 

Whilst from her nodding head the blossoms bound, 
Or float, or clothe the grass, and glittering bright 

With gemmy sprays that her fresh form surround. 



32 AFTER STORM. 

Oh that thou couldst abide with us, fair maid ! 

E'er mock the tempest with thy cheering smile, 
And ne'er again the earth be made afraid, 

But one sweet tale of love and joy beguile. 



FOND IMAGINATION. 33 



jFonti Smajjmaticn. 

T^HERE is one pleasure all may know, 
-*- Nor care for rank nor station : 
It is the solace which doth flow 
From fond imagination. 

Blest with her spell, the soldier sees 
No more of war's commotion ; 

And all the sailor's hardship flees 
Before her sweet emotion. 

Again they tread the well-known path; 

Old friends again are greeting; 
Again upon the cottage hearth 

Are wives and children meeting. 

Their gardens bloom with rarer flowers ; 
All things are fairly altered : 



34 FOND IMAGINATION. 

They pass securely now the hours 
Where once they sighed or faltered. 

The toil-worn to the city bound, 
The aged with aches repining, 

Already have the respite found, 
Or sweet the days declining. 

They take the stroll o'er hill and plain, 
And hear the birds' notes swelling; 

The roses and the woodbine twine 
About the rural dwelling. 

Her glance doth make the distance clear 

For every yearning mortal ; 
And they who listen with her hear 

The songs from heaven's own portal. 



GONE AWAY. 35 



©one Ifoag. 

TT7HERE are those evils gone on this bright day? 
' ' Those heavy clouds of woe, — where, where are 
they 
Gone away, gone away? 

Was it so late ago as yesterday, 
I mourned of one sad thing I ne'er might say? — 
" Gone away, gone away ! 

"Down to my day of death the sting must stay?" 
And yet this smiling morn doth surely say, 
" Gone away, gone away ! " 



36 



PULL UP THE BLIND. 



Pull up t&e BImtr. 

PULL up the blind, Kitty; pull up the blind ! 
■ You say, "The sun will spoil the carpet." 
Never mind, never mind. 

Far better so than that your cheeks or mine 
Should lose their worth or color, Kitty. 
Let it shine, let it shine. 



And you shall find new joy it will impart. 
Pull up the blind, Kitty ; pull it up ! 
The sun helps the heart. 



THE SUMMER RAIN. 37 



Qfyz Summer ftat'n, 

TTOW restful is the rain ! 
-*• * How filled with hope again, 
Beneath the silvery tears, 
The long, faint land appears ! 
How restful is the rain ! 

How restful is the rain ! 
To see the roses red 
Around and overhead 
Upon their blushes wear 
The dewy diamond tear; 
To view the lilies white, 
Like stars at dead of night 
Upon yon darkened pool, 
So fresh and fair and cool ; 
Whilst zephyrs from the hills 
The opened chamber fills 



38 THE SUMMER RAIN. 

With odors rich or rare 

That new distilled are. 

As I securely sit, 

And soothing visions flit 

Through the kingdom of my own, 

In the stillness all alone, 

How restful is the rain ! 



THE FADED WATERPROOF. 39 



W§i iFatorti Waterproof. 

GOING down State, Street, 
Every morn at eight, 
In a faded waterproof, 
With a busy gait, 

Passeth me a dainty form 

With a radiant face. 
She is but a sewing-girl : 

That is no disgrace. 

I have slyly sent to her 
Garments warm and fine : 

Doth she think the cloak she wears 
Better is than mine? 

Oh that I might dare to say 
What is in my mind ! 



40 THE FADED WATERPROOF, 

But a something in her gaze 
Small hope bids me find. 

"I have worn my waterproof," 
(So she seems to speak,) 

" Keeping from offence my heart, 
Keeping fresh my cheek. 

" Shall I lay it then aside 

For a dubious gift? 
Taste the fruits of discontent? 

Yield the ways of thrift? 

" No, forsooth ! my waterproof 
Honest hands have earned. 

Give to those who ask gay robes : 
I for none have yearned. ,, 

Ah, she is too proud for me ! 

I must seek a mate 
Where the shallower feelings flow, ■ 

'Mongst the rich or great. 



THE FADED WATERPROOF. 4 1 



Yet my dreams supreme will see, 

Choose I high or low, 
One with faded waterproof 

Flitting to and fro. 



42 THE OAR. 



&f)e ©at. 

" I love to listen to the oar." 

Daniel Deronda. 

T LOVE to listen to the oar 

*- When wandering to the water's side ; 

I love to labor with it more, 

And o'er the glassy surface glide. 

For others be a wider sphere, — 
The dangerous and the restless sea : 

Suffice the river and the mere 

For all enchantment craved by me ; 

The land-locked bay, where I may dwell 
Upon the shallow bottom's store 

Of shingle, sand, and tinted shell, 
At once upon the sea and shore; 



THE OAR. 43 

To move by fair fringed banks the while ; 

To trace the inverted trees and skies, 
Reflected like a lover's smile 

In his fair maiden's trustful eyes. 

I love to saunter to my boat 

When turmoil of the day is done, 

And, on the rushy stream afloat, 

To know the peace that there is won. 



44 ON BOARD YACHT "FIREFLY." 



©n 3Soarir gacfjt " Jtrtflg/' 

1T7E see the bristling rocks close by; 

' ' The white-cap waves are combing high ; 
It were a little thing to die 
With this great throb of ecstasy. 

"Ready about!" the captain cries, 
And " Hard-a-lee ! " The brave boat flies 
Round on her heel, and on she hies 
Upon the waves triumphantly. 

We, perched to windward, sitting see 
The waters wash upon her lee ; 
But little for her fate fear we : 
On, on, we go right bonnily. 



ON BOARD YACHT "FIREFLY." 45 

All of a sudden drops the gale : 

The night draws near; a large moon pale 

Upriseth slowly like a sail, — 

And we at anchor dreamily. 



46 IN MY MA CA ULA Y. 



En iHg iWacaulag. 

SHADES of the great ! illustrious dead, 
Who gave my isle its crown of fame, 
Smile ye ! the virtue hath not fled, 
And glory of a Briton's name. 

Behold, I drop the burning book, 
Proud record of undying worth ! 

On time's revolving page I look, 
Lo, royal still, my land of birth. 

My country ! yea, whate'er betide, 

(Though claims me now another shore,) 

There still will throb for thee the pride, 
And love to live forevermore. 



IN MY MA CA ULA Y. 47 

It may not be my happy fate 

To hold high prize by honor won; 

But this is aye my chief estate, — 
England ! I am thy son. 



48 A RETROSPECT. 



% &ett00pect 

TTOW I long for the wheat-fields of England, 
-" With scarlet glints in the grain, 
The happy scene of my boyhood, 
To make me whole again ! 

I know that this land is a fair one ; 

I think that it means me well; 
Yet, oh ! I am but a stranger, 

And miss the old fond spell. 

I sigh for the ivied cottage 

That sheltered the hearts so dear: 

Ah, me ! if but one were present 
My fainting soul to cheer ! 



A RETROSPECT. 49 

In vain I look on your beauty, 

This day, O dale and hill ! 
For memory tightly holds me 

Clasped with a fatal will. 

Oh for my native daisy, 

The hawthorn, rose, and vine ! 

Oh, but to swoon on the greensward, 
Dear, dewy England, thine ! 

Pepperell, June 19, 1879. 



50 



IN THE MEADOW. 



En tfje ffitatiflfo. 



A f Y little maid in the meadow, 
*-** Bending over the iris : 
Which is she, and which is the iris? 
Both are blue. 

My little maid picking iris, 
Buttercups, daisies, and iris, 
With a heart full of health and of gladness,- 
A flower is she ! 



n. 

My little maid in the meadow : 
The meadow is mown, and the sky is gray. 
" I wis/i" cries my pet, " it were yesterday / 
Don't you, papa?" 



THE PRAIRIE. 5 I 



2Tfje prattle. 

TT7E stand, my horse and I, 
*' On die prairie's high "divide," 
With nothing betwixt us and the sky, 
And naught the land to hide. 

And, oh ! it is fair to see 

The acres and acres that roll 

Like the waves of a stiffened sea, 
With ours to crown the whole. 

And far away a plain, 

Through which a river glides; 
Yet never a single field of grain 

The fertile soil provides. 



52 THE PRAIRIE. 

Long has it been the right 

Of bison and of deer; 
The home of the red man in his might, 

Who scorns to have a peer. 

But now is the scene all still 

As a graveyard's hallowed ground; 

Nor sign of life save of us on the hill, 
Nor any other sound. 



CUS1ER AND HIS MEN 53 



Custer anto fjte JHnt. 

CUSTER is dead ! 
The hero wed 
With camps and frays : 
At life's ripe time, 
All in his prime, 
Custer lies dead ! 

Face to the foe, 
(They found him so,) 
He and his men, 
In the Indian's den; 
Front to the foe, 
(They found them so.) 



54 CUSTER AND HIS MEN 

Of all the van, 
Not left a man : 
Not one would fly, 
But all could die. 
Serene they lay, 
God-like, though clay. 

Oh ! give a tear, 
Men far and near, 
And valor's praise, 
And choicest lays, 
The world wide o'er, 
Forevermore ! 

Custer is dead ! 
His golden head 
No more the plain 
Shall see again ; 
But lasting fame 
Shall keep his name. 

The foe shall tell 
How grand he fell. 



CUSTER AND HIS MEN 55 

Poet and sage, 
And history's page, 
Shall let the spot 
Ne'er be forgot. 

And youth shall see 
The mystery 
More clearly rise 
Of duty's prize, 
And firmer stand 
Our loved land. 



56 "SUM UATB 



"SJl Ijatli gone," £r. 

QHE hath gone with her poppies and grain, 
^ With her pk I pomp and song 

of hollow and pla 
And ta'en my heart alo: 

She hath left me a kingdom undone, 
A scene that is sombre and bare, 

With clouds that are foes to the sun, 
With ominous sounds in the air. 

Ye maples and elms I o'erlook 

the meadow which dips to the dell, 
Ye willows which bend o'er the brook. 
No more will ye bless with your spell. 

The charm of the forest hath fled. 
The orange and crimson and gold : 



H SHE HATH GONE:' $7 

I note the leaves fallen and dead, 
And whirling away o'er the wold. 

There are left but a few tossing firs 

Of all the lawn's curtain of green, 
That seem, as the wind in them stirs, 

Lamenting o'er things which have been. 

The asters along by the way, 

As homeward I yesterday trod, 
With bunches of golden-rod gay, 

I know are as brown as the sod. 

I hear not the cricket's glad cry, 

Not a bird through the long day in sight : 

Methinks there are ghosts gliding by, 
As close in the hours of the night. 

She hath gone, with her poppies and grain, 
With her plenty and pomp and song : 

She hath gone, queen of hollow and plain, 
And ta'en my heart along. 



58 AN AUTUMN MORN 



&tt Autumn JHorm 

HPHE dark grass sparkles with the dew, 
** As raven hair which gems adorn ; 
Whilst light and shade, like sisters two, 
Steal through the opening gate of morn. 

With glistening threads the way is crossed; 

And oft the silver-beaded snare 
Glints on the turfy path embossed, 

Prophetic of a season fair. 

How breezeless still ! The vapor white, 
Like incense from the cottage hearth, 

Seems scarce to be possessed of flight, 
So steady is its upward path. 



AN AUTUMN MORN 59 

As if entranced the maples stand, 
The jewelled darlings of the scene, 

And all the gay-apparelled land 
Is as with silent prayer serene. 

In all the void one sound alone, 

One sound of sabbath-bells, is heard, 

Where late, with lusty song and tone, 
A thousand throats the echoes stirred, — 

Save lifts his voice a startled crow, 

Black-specked against the halcyon blue, 

With guttural menace at the foe, 
As warning for the cloistered crew. 

All else is peace, — sweet nature's peace, 
That falls upon the heart like balm, 

To bid the past's distress to cease, 
And soothe with hope of future calm. 

Autumn, 1877. 



60 A UTUMN LEA VES. 



Autumn 2Lea&r0. 

SEE them falling, falling, falling, 
Falling fast; 
And how beautiful they vanish 
To the past ! 

Oh that I might find the secret 

Of such death ! 
Like the autumn leaves so sweetly 

Yield my breath ! 



MARGUERITE. 6 1 



fHarguerite* 

TN the lap of her lover lay Marguerite, 
* With her face upturned to his, 
Gentle and pure and winning 
As any maid's, I wis. 

But her eyes were filled with the sadness 

Of a love that knew no abate : 
"Now tell to me, Roderick, truly," 

Quoth she, "thine own estate. 

"Dost thou love me with love all-absorbing? 

Come, show to me, pray, thy heart ! " 
But innocent pleadings, surely ; 

Yet why should her Roderick start? 



62 MARGUERITE. 

Though the maiden saw not the motion, 

If any was outwardly made, 
Was he false ? We will search not his bosom : 

True, at least, was now all that he said : — 

" Mine own ! thou art first of all women ; 

I worship none other but thee : 
Thy gift is my best of all .blessings, 

As dear as my life is to me." 

"As dear as thy life is, my Roderick ? " 
(Oh ! why speaks she stricken and low?) 

" Far more than my life do I love thee y 
My darling, and always shall so ! " 

Nor is this the rhyme of a fancy : 

The daisies are over her head, 
Who soon to the arms of the Father, 

By Christ in his pity was led. 



JOHNNY LEE. 6$ 



3oIjnng ILtz. 

THE CLAM-DIGGER. 

1T7H0 is it that stirreth the sedge of the beach, 
' ' So blithe, but Johnny Lee, 
In his shirt of red, with his gypsy head, 

And his trousers rolled to the knee, 
As he aimeth yon spot by the river to reach 

Ere the flow setteth back from the sea? — 

Yon spot by the sea, where nor samphire nor reed, 

But naked, oozy, and brown, 
The shore slopeth down from its meadowy crown, 

Its chaplet of spume and weed \ 
For thither the clams are thickly sown 

To serve the youngster's need. 



64 JOHNNY LEE. 

With hoe and crate he speedeth along, 

Not another sound to hear, 
Save the sandpiper's cheep, or menhaden's shy leap, 

And the tide low murmuring near, 
But the crunch of his step, or whistle, or song, 

Now and then giving proof of his cheer. 

Crunch, crunch, crunch, 

On the still September air; 
A blue of river and sea and sky, 
A white-winged craft slow sailing by, 

And a background of woodland rare. 



THE ROSE-BERRY. 65 



2Tfje &asc;3Sertg. 

T^HIS leafless stem, with berry crowned, 
-*- Which seemed to have no part 
In all the brave display around, 
I garnered to my heart. 

I saw the chiccory blue-arrayed, 

The sanguine clover's bloom, 
The dandelion undismayed, 

For all its pending doom ; 

The gala set of fall were by, — 

A troop of crested pride, 
Lobelia crimson-robed, and shy 

Fringed gentian like a bride ; 



66 THE ROSE-BERRY. 

The maples, with the very soul 
Of beauty, me bewitched ; 

And oft I paused by wall or bole 
Which glowing vine enriched. 

And yet, and yet, though I recall 
A most enchanting brood, 

This lone rose-berry of them all 
Did touch my tenderest mood. 



THE POOR MAN'S APPEAL. 67 



&fje $aor iHan^ Appeal, 



/^H, scorn me not that I should pass 
^ The "yellow primrose " by, — 
" A primrose on the river's brim : " 
My eyes to see it are too dim, 
God help me ! though I try. 

11. 

Six hungry weans, they watch me come, — 

Six weans and one sore wife ; 
And I climb weary, weary home, 

And wonder why is life. 

in. 
Oh ! I could sing a song with glee, 

That should exceed the best : 
Good Lord ! the music make for me 

Of honest bread and rest. 



68 AUTUMN BRANCHES. 



Qv\\xxm Branches*, 

TVfY eyes were full to tears; just then I glanced 
-**'-*• Upon the grove, and saw, betwixt the stript 
And blackened trees, by autumn smote, new charm 
Of sky, which the full leaves had hid. " O heart ! " 
I cried, " so is it to our lives : through bared 
And blighted branches comes more view of heaven." 



THE ALPINE WATCH 69 



STfje aipt'ne ffl&atrfj. 

T^HE monks were clustered about the fire; 
•*• For wild was the night, and bleak ; 
And the sprightly dance of the fagot-pyre' 
Lit up each saffron cheek. 

With a broadening grace the gladsome light 

Swept o'er the naked floor : 
It shimmered on pointed panes, and bright 

Made wainscot, wall, and door. 

It reddened the tawny posts and beams ; 

It high in the roof did go ; 
It flickered in niches far, and gleams 

Shot on the fluttering snow. 



JO THE ALPINE WATCH. 

Like the spell of a cheerful woman's smile, 

To chase sad care away, 
Was the winsome vision from hearth and tile, 

That mocked the rueful day. 

It seemed like a struggle 'twixt flame and blast, 
Whose power should most prevail ; 

But the monks oft shuddered, and looked aghast, 
Concerned to hear the gale. 

They spake of the wanderer on his path, 
Perchance on their Alpine steep, 

With the chill and the drift, and the gusty wrath, 
And the avalanche's sweep. 

A beacon they vowed their blaze should go 

To be on the wildering air; 
And some would abroad the way to show, 

Or aid, if need there were. 

Little solace for them : 'twas plainly told 
In the sorrowing, fear-starting eyes, 



THE ALPINE WATCH. fl 

As slowly the hours of midnight rolled, 
With ever the wind's weird cries. 

And so through the lingering storm they kept 

Their ward till matin-bell; 
Yet never, I ween, had cheerier stepped 

The watcher to his cell. 



J 2 THE SQUIRE AND HIS VIS-A-VIS. 



STfje Squire antu fjfe Ufe*a=bta. 

fXN the hearth sits the squire in his easy-chair, 
^ Wrinkled with spleen and petty care; 
And he asketh if virtue be anywhere. 

He hath turned away from his lavish board; 
But he telleth a tale of his dwindled hoard, — 
Of the much, much more, he might have stored. 

Facing him, flutters a chickadee, 

On a twig of a near-by naked tree, 

As blithe o'er a berry as bird may be, — 

A berry withered with cold and snows, 
That seemeth to be of the wild red rose 
Which here and there by the wayside grows. 



THE SQUIRE AND HIS VIS-A-VIS. 73 

And a bleak north wind is sweeping by, 
(Sombre the woods and fields and sky,) 
And a bitter night is drawing nigh. 

But little the bleakness heedeth he : 
Little the past, or what may be, 
Vexeth the heart of the chickadee. 



74 THE SNOW-MAIDEN. 



Elft Snofo^Plaftem 

T MARK upon the upland snow 

* A dainty maid serenely go, 

All in a glistening robe of white, 

Decked o'er with green and berries bright ; 

And round about her braided hair 

A wreath of myrtle doth she wear : 

So came she with the gathering cloud 

Which gave the land its beauteous shroud. 

And now beneath the uncurtained sky, 

Blue edged with green, and stretched on high, 

Long shapes of many a lovely hue, 

Such chosen shores as dreams pursue, 

She wends her way all void of fear, 

And sings a song for men to hear, — 

Of purity and purpose high, 

And deeds of unknown chivalry. 



THE DYING YEAR. J$ 



2Tfje ©gtncj gear. 

Lying dying is the Old Year, — 
Lying dying. 

f IKE the. fire's departing ghost, 
-■-' He hath served us to the most : 
Lying dying is the Old Year, — 
Lying dying. 

With his weight of joy and woe, 
Speedily from us to go : 

Lying dying is the Old Year, — 
Lying dying. 

Old and young, grave and gay, 
He is fading fast away : 

Lying dying is the Old Year, — 
Lying dying. 



?6 THE DYING YEAR, 

He doth go forevermore, 
With the heart's recorded store : 
Lying dying is the Old Year,- 
Lying dying. 



IV. 



JENNY gave me a cinnamon-rose 
Over the garden gate, 
As I wandered by with the twilight's close 
In mood disconsolate. 

She gave me a rose, and with it, too, 
A smile from her wistful face : 

I should on the morrow be, she knew, 
Far from my native place. 

I was bound to a distant land away, 

To strive for gold or fame : 
Little was in my heart that day, 

Save but to make a name. 

79 



80 THE CINNAMON-ROSE. 

The cinnamon-rose I kindly took ; 

I said a kind farewell ; 
Then answered again a final look, 

Then sauntered down the dell. 

I joined the ranks of the busy throng, 
I mingled with high and low; 

But never a profit came along, 
Nor good this day I know. 

Only one grace obtains of all 
To bless me to the close : 

It is when a maiden I recall, 
A tear, and a cinnamon-rose. 



THE LILY. 8l 



2Tf)e 3Ltl2- 

T THOUGHT to pluck thee, lily white, 
* To grace a maiden's hair; 
But, oh, thou art so white, so white ! 
I may not, may not dare. 

Yet, wert thou with her dark locks knit, 
How kindlier all would seem ! 

Nay, vestal one ; I here will sit, 
And weep my vanished dream. 



82 ALEXIS. 



ON the lorn and perilous sands 
Alexis scans the bay; 
And never a vessel shoreward stands, 
Nor specks the waste of gray. 

In the folds of her mystical veil 
Comes Eve to claim the scene ; 

While many a phantom, weird or pale, 
Steps forth the deepening screen. 

Of the rock again or the blast, 

Alexis thinks, and sighs : 
Ah, what doth he see at last, at last ! 

With that glad, wild surmise? 



ALEXIS. 83 

Away in the waters low, 

White-bosomed like a swan, 
Or like a lily with heart aglow, 

The goodly thing glides on. 

There are festive sounds, in the air; 

There are figures whom satins adorn ; 
And odorous tales of vintage rare 

Are on the breezes borne. 

But who so close at his side, 

Strange wrapped with weed around, 

In garments sueh as bedeck the bride, 
All bowed with grief profound? 

Oh ! Alexis paceth the beach, 

With gaze distraught or dim : 
Where stayeth the bark, so slow to reach, 

The harbor-home to him? 



84 OH FOR A BREATH FROM THE HILLS I 



©fj for a Breatfj from tfje P?tlls. 

OH for a breath from the hills, 
In this close and harassed . life, 
Where man moves round as in fetters, 
Or wins his bread by strife. 

Oh for the scene at rising 

Of the distant heights in haze ! 

To see the glow of the morning, 
To hear the songs of praise, 

To see the sheen of the evening 
On peaceful field or brook, 

To trace the scope of the heavens 
With wondering, rapturous look ! 



V^L FOR A BREATH FROM THE HILLS ! 85 

Twere better a "mess of pottage," 

And but a laborer's dole, 
Back, back in my modest cottage, 

Than here so faint of soul. 

Send me, my love, a token, — 

One that will solace me ; 
One that shall make the surer 

The chaplet twined by thee. 

Tell me, my own, of the fountain 

That bursts from the iron-bosomed mountain : 
Of the heart that beats as it wills : 

Twill be as a breath from the hills. 



V. 

(SONNETS.) 



Eo a Blttrfurtu 

OTHOU that wear'st the livery of the sky 
(And rightly robed for thy so hopeful song,) 
Would that I might thy springtide lay prolong ! 
Pour forth, as seemest thou, to Him on high 
A breath as sweet ! But, ah ! too weak am I. 
Plume as I may upon a rarer gift, 
Watching the weird cloud-phantoms chasing drift, 
And on the grass in shadow waves flow by; 
Or fed with fancies by the rustling firs, 
The varied joy of which the mind partakes, 
And still the greater boon whence faith awakes ; 
Yea, though I should attempt my very most, 
'Twould be of song alone but as a ghost 
Compared with thine which now my breast so stirs. 

89 



90 ON A VASE OF FERNS, 



©n a Uase of Jerna, 

WHAT marvel here of shape and shade of fern ! 
What charm hath Nature given them ! what the 
hand 
Of Art that hath their crested grouping planned ! 
Fain would I let the fair bestower learn 
How fond a praise is hers who could discern 
So well my pleasure, and can thus command 
My town-tired eyes, that I may happy stand 
Whilst much-loved brook and brake again return. 
Magical creatures ! Yet too sad it seems 
To steal you from those meditative shades 
Where ye dwelt nun-like with your dainty dreams, 
On mossy bed, to where such life soon fades, 
Like poet parted from his native streams, 
And woods and hills, and flower-besprinkled glades. 



TO THE EAST WIND IN SUMMER. 9 1 



Eo tfje 3East OTmti in Summer. 

T^AMILIAPv spirit, air of the salty East, 

* That hath so oft aroused my discontent, 

My thoughts on wanderings from thee ever bent 

Through the late lingering season, loved the least 

Of all thy tribe that ministers to man and beast, 

Is this indeed thyself that now art sent, 

A friend to us in feverish city pent, 

Lifting our spirits, liberal as a feast? 

Oh, I for this will bear thee much in mind ! 

And when again thou tak'st thy wintry throne, 

To have the world thy keen-edged sword bemoan, 

And vent its rage that thou art all unkind, 

I will proclaim another thing for thee, — 

The boon these sultry days thou wert to me. 



92 TO OUR SECRETARY AND FRIEND. 



3Co our Secretary anto jFrtnrtL 

\)0 ND heart, God bless thee, and reward the grace 

-*■ That hath endeared thee so to all around, 

As if to know thee were a brother found, 

In whose true breast no doubt could find a place ! 

Thy worth and wit do we this day recall ; 

Or could it be for us e'er to forget 

The gratitude we owe thee, or the debt 

To thy rare modesty, the crown of all? 

God bless and shield thee in thy going hence, 

Called to redeem thy health ! Oft shall we sigh 

In memory of the days when thou wert nigh ; 

And ours alike will be thy weary sense, 

Alike our own thy weight of care and pain, 

Till thou art back with us thyself again. 



IN MY SHAKSPEARE. 93 



3n ntg Sfjafespeare. 

THIRST in the first of arts, great master, I, 
* All glowing from thy glory-shedding verse, 
May not resist the promptings to rehearse 
How much and oft thy grace I magnify. 
Oh, feeble praise ! not meant with that to vie 
Which into being gifted thought may nurse, 
Or culture's power, the finished lines or terse ; 
But only such as Labor's child may try, 
Though all heart-warm. Herein, at least, no bar 
Upon my lips, nor fear of any frown 
Where love hath place : in his triumphal car 
I move secure, unchallenged as thine own ; 
For this thy magic, constant as a star, 
Or peer or peasant may enjoy thy crown. 



94 A PETITION. 



a Petition. 

ATOT much of faith have I, and less of worth, 
*■ * But, oh ! from out my inmost soul I pray- 
That I may ne'er so wander on the way, 
To lose the wondrous beauty of the earth, 
Or fail the healing comfort of its girth 
Of field and flower, — such as I know to-day, 
Moving amidst the meadows green, or gay 
With violets sown, or buds of kindred birth, 
To greet the spring ! Come age or indigence, 
But keep me fresh with Nature, O ye skies ! 
That I may ever have the sure defence 
Beyond the undoing of or tears or sighs; 
And like this swallow be, with ravished sense. 
Casting flash-shadows as he past me flies. 

Roxbury Highlands, May 9, 1879. 



ON SONG. 95 



©n Song. 



"T^EA, song is sweet, and in itself a pride; 
J- Though better ofttimes 'tis to woo deaf ear, 
Or run the gauntlet of a neighbor's sneer; 
Or comes the bantling back of all denied 
The meed of love. Yet he who hath relied 
On fostering Muse will not for any fear 
Forego her worship, but esteem her dear 
As life or aught, and, trusting so, abide 
Neglect or scorn. Save, O my heart, this care, 
That I may have of grace, if but to win 
One soul from sorrow, or possess the power 
To keep it proof against the evil snare, 
Or that which would assail sweet peace within : 
Ay, this alone my song's sufficient dower. 



g6 ON SONG. 

II. 

One thing to me more dear is e'en than song, 
Though it would seem to me of song begot, — 
More, than the artist-fancy, or the lot 
To be fame-crowned : though I should go along 
My way unblest, to feel contumely's thong, 
With nothing writ but what myself would blot, 
The spectre of a thing to be forgot, 
Or all that one may know of grief or wrong 
Attend my Muse, — oh ! rather let this be, 
So am I but exempt one single thrust 
That would accuse me of abandoned plan 
To walk the world of every shackle free, — 
Free from the beggar's bread, or any rust 
Of soul, or aught becoming not a man. 



VI. 

(HUMOROUS.) 



STrofobrftoge anti Ijis gncfjar. 

[founded on fact.] 

WE all have read of Gilpin, 
Whom Cowper tells about, 
Who ran a race to Edmonton, 
Without a speck of doubt. 

But few have heard the story 
Of Trowbridge of Cape Cod, 

And his adventure with a horse, 
That was so very odd. 

Now, Trowbridge was a captain 
Of level head and fame ; 

And not a merchant spoke of him 
But mentioned well his name. 

99 



IOO TROWBRIDGE AND HIS ANCHOR. 

All said he was a sailor good 
As e'er sailed on the sea; 

But then it chanced upon the land 
Another man was he. 

As when one with a clumsy hand 
Exclaims, " I am all thumbs ! " 

So did the captain seem at home 
To all save his own chums. 

Did his own wife but say to him, 
" Go buy me this or that," 

She might almost as well have sent 
An infant — or the cat. 

Twere ten to one but he would get 
Something they least did need; 

And, oh ! it was a byword how 
The hucksters did him bleed. 

A simple-minded, honest soul, 
Our hero was, in short ; 



TROWBRIDGE AND HIS ANCHOR, 10 1 

And who but he, that one fine morn, 
Intent to have some sport, 

Doth to the livery-stable hie? 

Quoth he, "A horse and gig; 
A beast that's fast ! " The groom rejoined, 

" We have your very rig. 

" Behold, sir, here, our fleetest beast ! 

You had not better fared ; 
But I would warn you well, the whip 

On him were wisely spared. 

"Use him but gently, and you'll find 

A serviceable hack; 
But he's averse to having laid 

Reminders on his back.' , 

"Ay, ay!" the captain answered up. 

" Leave me alone to steer. 
I never yet was on a craft 

Where I had cause for fear. 



102 TROWBRIDGE AND HIS ANCHOR. 

" I reckon that I know a trick 

Quite match enough for him, 
And, should he put me to the test, 

Will soon repress his vim." 

Here, reader, let us pause to note 

A very curious fact : 
There never was a sailor yet 

Could drive a horse with tact. 

It looks as though, when Jack has got 

The reins within his hands, 
The very de'il was at his side, 

Dictating the commands. 

He is so altogether void 

Of aught like common sense, 
As though when one would say, " Come here ! " 

He said instead, " Get hence ! " 

And yet, forsooth, our gallant friend 
Will chuckle o'er his skill, 



TROWBRIDGE AND HIS ANCHOR. IO3 

And deem no Jehu of the whip 
The place could so well fill. 

So let us now return to see 

The goodman in his seat, 
And driving at a spicy gait 

Adown the village street. 

He stops him at his own snug home, 

And to his wife, doth shout, 
"My dear, I take a ride ! " Said she, 

"Beware and not fall out!" 

Said he, " That is a saucy speech ; 

Yet it doth me remind 
There is a something I require, 

I may not leave behind. 

"If you will hold my horse's head, 

I'll seek it whilst he stands." 
Forth came the captain, bearing out 

An anchor in his hands, — 



104 TROWBRIDGE AND HIS ANCHOR. 

An anchor that a yacht might use, 
Or craft of some such sort, 

Already stocked with cable bent, 
As when one nears the port. 

For stowing it beneath the seat 
He found sufficient scope ; 

Then round the horse's head he tied 
The loose end of the rope. 

" Now run, my hearty, an you will," 
Saith Trowbridge to his nag ; 

"But I will bring you up 'ker chunk, 
Though go you like a stag." 

The neighbors gather at their doors 
To see their friend depart ; 

And many a bantering jest is flung 
As he essays to start. 

" Cast off that bow-line 1 " bawls a voice 
Who notes the hemp that's bound 



TROWBRIDGE AND II IS ANCHOR. 105 

About the horse's neck." Saith one, 
" Beware ! don't go aground ! " 

And now he kisses wife good-by : 

" From Yarmouth I'm away ! " 
Cries he : " at Barnstable shall touch, 

And there all night may stay." 

So see him start : a dashing speed 

Down, down the road he hies, 
As fast as when, with wind dead aft, 

A ship before it flies. 

Jump goes the gig : 'tis here ; 'tis there : 

" By Peter ! how she yaws ! " 
Exclaims a peering salt : " for why, 

I see but little cause." 

"The truth you speak," another saith: 

" He hath a devious plan ; 
And, by the way he plies the lash, 

There's fault with horse — or man." 



106 TROWBRIDGE AND HIS ANCHOR. 

Then let us to the captain's side. 

Behold him red with wrath ! 
a You scoundrel ! " quoth he, "brew away: 

Yourself will drink the broth ! 

"You think that you will conquer me, 
With your confounded snap ! " 

So saying, stooped he down, and took 
His anchor in his lap. 

Then, rising up, and poising it 

On level with his head, 
Aslant (with flukes above, you know,) 

The metal from him sped. 

" Now, drat ye ! " (if these were the words 

Indeed the captain spoke,) 
" Now, drat ye ! ye have let this go 

Too far to be a joke. 

"And we will see, my spunky boy, 
How long ere you ' broach to ! ' " 



TROWBRIDGE AND HIS ANCHOR. 107 

Still did the steed in no wise heed, 
But only faster flew 

The anchor, like a thing of life, 

Did bob and skip and bound : 
Now like a barbed bolt it was ; 

Now trailed it on the ground. 

Faster and faster went the horse ; 

He goes like one that's crazed : 
Good faith ! well-nigh indeed he is 

With blisters on him raised. 

And him who felt his triumph sure 

Now see with trembling knees : 
Each hope he scans, as when a straw 

The drowning man would seize. 

But horses are alike with men ; 

And, go they bravely fast, 
There surely will a season come 

When they must stop at last. 



I08 TROWBRIDGE AND HIS ANCHOR. 

An ugly "stump" midway the road 

Our courser dashes by, 
Then falters, falls : horse, gig, and man, - 

A heap confused they lie. 

The anchor in the wood is fast, 
And hence the group so still: 

The horse for sure will move no more; 
He's raced the last he will. 

The captain, with a stunning blow, 

Upon his head doth pitch : 
They picked him up for live or dead, 

Not knowing scarcely which. 

They bore him to a neighboring house, 

And for a doctor sent ; 
And many a doubtful, weary hour 

He o'er the patient bent. 

At length the sailor found his voice, 
And faintly asked his fate. 



TROWBRIDGE AND HIS ANCHOR. IO9 

" O captain ! " was it said to him, 
"Why went'st thou such a gait?" 

" Ha, ha ! " the goodman grimly said, 

"Yet own I did him check." 
" No doubt of that," it was replied, 

" By token of his neck. 

" Your carriage is a total loss ; 

Your horse will breathe no more ; 
And here you lie upon your back, 

A prisoner stiff and sore." 

"Alas!" he said; "and all this true? 

What bills will be to pay ! 
And I to sea must off again 

To earn what's gone to-day." 

And sail he did ; and months went by 

Before he could provide 
The money that would pay the cost 

Of his disastrous ride. 



IIO TROWBRIDGE AND HIS ANCHOR, 

Yet still the captain lives to think 

He is a coachman bold ; 
Though there are those who scarce would ride, 

If he the reins should hold. 



A MOSQUITO LEGEND. Ill 



& iHosqufto Ecgcnto. 

> r PWAS a warm summer's day approaching the 

^ night, — 
The time so del'ghtful we call the twilight, — 
That a group of men-folk were taking their ease, 
Smoking pipes, and discussing under the trees. 

Now Elder Persimon, with usual intent, 

Had presented himself for an argument ; 

But, whether o'erpowered by thought or his dinner, 

Failed zeal, and fell asleep like a sinner. 

His friends slily laughed at the comical sight, 
And plotted to leave him alone in his plight ; 
Then homeward they turned, and the good man slept 

sound 
As ever a gypsy that's bred to the ground. 



112 A MOSQUITO LEGEND. 

So thus was he lying as struck the clock one, 
(The hour 'tis well known for vile deed to be done,) 
When secretly stepped from a hidden retreat 
That certain queer fellow with very queer feet. 

And from under his arm a large bag he took, 
Cut the string, and over the elder it shook ; 
Then back for his hiding-place hastily struck, 
With a look that expressed, " I wonder what luck ! " 

The elder uneasily moved ; then he said, 

" Confound these mosquitoes that swarm round my 

head ! " 
(For see you, he was not yet quite wide awake 
To find that for home he had made a mistake.) 

But mosquitoes, we know, do not disappear 
By just a reminder, " You're not wanted here ; " 
Nor ne'er more determined when breaking repose ; 
For, failing bare place, they will prick through the 
clothes. 



A MOSQUITO LEGEND. 113 

Whilst this sleeper they found an excellent prey, 
With never a blanket to keep them away; 
And, as certes no mortal could sleep out such pain, 
Their victim leaped upright, stared thrice and again. 

Quite cold, and sore smarting, he rose to his feet, 
Expecting, of course, his companions to meet ; 
But in vain he called out, for nobody spoke ; 
Then in anger he guessed they'd played him a joke. 

Now, mosquitoes are foes awake as at rest, 
And a taste they had had to double their zest : 
So, what with their stings and his shivering both, 
The elder let slip out a word called an oath. 

Whereat out there popped the odd-looking fellow; 
And how he did jibe and chuckle and bellow ! 
Whilst the trembling good man beheld him aghast, 
Assuredly thinking, " I'm done for at last ! " 

But only a moment the wild laughter ran : 

The object was gone, and the elder's quick plan 



114 A MOSQUITO LEGEND, 

Was, you may guess, with as much speed as he could, 
Considering the dark, to get out of the wood. 

This story in main, with much circumspection, 
The good man at " meeting " told, called for pro- 
tection 
From the peril of soul entailed by the act 
Of swearing, nor keeping his temper intact. 

What few links were wanting the tale to complete 
Were supplied by the Muse, that naught might defeat 
So fair an occasion for pressing the aim, 
"To keep cool at all times, whoever's to blame. " 



VII. 

(SONGS.) 



E 3Lobe tljee, ©arling. 

HOW soft thine eyes ! 
What vista bright 
Hath made them swim 
With dews to-night? 
I only know, beyond recall, 
I love thee, darling, chief of all. 

Yet stay, fond hope, 
Nor let my sighs 
Undo the dream 
Of Paradise. 
I only know, beyond recall, 
I love thee, darling, chief of all. 

117 



Il8 "HAST THOU NOT ONE THOUGH IT &C. 



" Pfast STfjou not ©ne fought" #c, 

IT AST thou not one thought for me? 
^ * Oh, mine eyes are dimmed with gazing ! 
Oh, my lips are parched with praising ! 
Hast thou not one thought for me? 

Hast thou not one thought for me? 
I, beside thee, though so lowly, 
Canst thou scorn my melancholy? 
Hast thou not one thought for me? 

Hast thou not one thought for me? 
On thy fate my own is leaning; 
Every grief of thine my gleaning : 
Hast thou not one thought for me? 



ONE CAN AYE CONTENT ME. II9 



©ne can age content fHe 



ONE can aye content me, 
Smile my grief away, 
As the sun dispels the shadow 
At the break of day. 

11. 
Fairer than the milky rose, 

Or the red, is she, 
As we range the flowers together, 

Pilfering like the bee. 

in. 
One can aye content me, 

Smile my grief away, 
As the sun dispels the shadow 

At the break of day. 



120 HOME IS WHERE THE HEART IS. 



f^ome is inhere tfje ?^eart is, 

HOME is where the heart is, 
Be it hut or hall: 
'Tis the space where love hath place, 
Sweetest is of all. 

Home is where the heart is, 
Sweetest spot of all. 

Home is where the heart is : 

Skies be dark or clear,. 

Country fair, or desert bare, 

Home is with my dear. 

Home is where the heart is, 
Close about my dear. 



HOME IS WHERE THE HEART IS. 121 

Home is where the heart is : 

Be it but a day 
I depart from my sweetheart, 
Home is far away. 

Home is where the heart is, 
Where mine own doth stay. 



122 LOVE'S ARMOR. 



3Lobe'0 armor. 

OH, life is bold, if love be strong, 
And gayly go the hours along ; 
Small fear begets the threatening sky, 
Or bellowing storm, or tempest high. 
If love and life jog on together, 
The heart is stouter than the weather. 

How quick succumbs the dire distress 

If lends its aid a fond caress ! 

Vain, vain, the ragged sea or roar 

Tumultuous of the breakers hoar. 

If love and life sail on together, 

The heart quakes not at wave or weather. 



TAKE HEART. 1 2.3 



3Eafte Pfeart 

WHEN west winds bear the bridal-gift 
Of blossoms o'er the fields ; 
When simple birds their praises lift, 

That earth such promise yields : 
What memory in the breast may stay 
Begotten of a winter day? 

When numbers free unbidden spring 

Like violets in the soul; 
When Hope revealed stands beckoning 

To her Elysian goal : 
O brother ! heed the poet's lay, 
So shall thy fear, too, pass away. 



124 THE SECRET KISS. 



2Efje Secret 3fitfes. 

OH, as by the road at eye I lay, 
Within the beechen shade, 
There came a-jogging along the way 

A gig with man and maid. 
The sun was seeking his couch in the west, 
And the vireo warbled a tale of rest. 

The bayberry-leaves were in my hand; 

The tansy round me grew; 
The chiccory, with a welcome bland, 

Refreshed my heart anew. 
Oh, surely the scene was fair and still, 
As clattering came the steed up hill. 



THE SECRET KISS. 1 25 

The squirrel he was full quick to hear, 

And, oh ! he 'gan to chide 
That mortal should so infest his sphere, 

With all the world so wide. 
He scolded and swore at the burst of glee, 
And we both of us wished the pair over the sea. 

But, oh, just then they kissed! — they kissed 

With such fond trust divine, 
That the joy came back, like a dear one missed, 

To the squirrel's heart and mine ; 
And the frisky fellow he smacked 1 again, 
While the poet sang in his sweetest vein. 

1 In like literal manner happening. 



126 FLIGHT OF TIME. 



jHfflflt of STfme, 

HPHE early flowers are going; 
-*- The callow birds are growing ; 
The spring will soon be o'er, 
And summer days no more ; 
The sowing, the sowing, 
Will soon be past the knowing, 
The spring be o'er and o'er, 
And summer days no more, 
And summer days no more. 



THE OLD SONG. 1 27 



BHje ©III Song. 

f HAVE left the room, and they wonder why 

-*- I sit by myself apart; 

But the sorrowful tears I could not dry, 

Nor still my throbbing heart ; 
For they sang, as I stood with the youthful band, 
An air that I knew in my native land. 

I, too, have joined in the same with glee ; 

For framed are the words to cheer; 
But now it is like a dirge to me 

For those no longer near. 
Oh ! it tells of the hearts which once were gay, 
And the home that forever hath passed away. 



128 A KISS IS AYE THE SAME. 



%L 7&im te age tfje Same* 

T)E it in castle or in cot, 
U A kiss is aye the same : 
Whate'er the rank, where'er the spot, 
The charm is e'er the same. 

The lord may fail, the man prevail, 

A kiss is aye the same : 
The partial pledge of amorous tale 

Is aye bestowed the same. 

The tender bond 'twixt true or fond, - 

A kiss is aye the same : 
The loving print when kin respond 

Is world wide o'er the same. 



A KISS IS AYE THE SAME. 1 29 

Be it in castle or in cot, 

A kiss is aye the same : 
Whate'er the rank, where'er the spot, 

The charm is e'er the same. 



130 SKATING SONG. 



Skating Song* 

QWIFTLY o'er the glassy floor 
^ Let ns gayly go : 
They who pause may find a grave 
In the depths below. 

Life is like a frozen stream 

Over which to glide \ 
Loiterers only find the dream 
With dismay allied. 

They who listless keep the fire, 
Ne'er our warmth may feel : 

Nothing makes the blood to mount 
Like the shimmering steel. 



SKATING SONG. 131 

Life is like a frozen stream 

Over which to glide : 
Loiterers only find the dream 

With dismay allied. 

See the dallying lover fail 

Of the maiden's kiss, 
While the braver wooer knows 
All the throbs of bliss. 

Life is like a frozen stream 

Over which to glide : 
Loiterers only find the dream 
With dismay allied. 

Valor dauntless, fame renowned, 

All that makes the great, 
Hath a common, kindred flow 
With a starlight skate. 

Life is like a frozen stream 

Over which to glide : 
Loiterers only find the dream 
With dismay allied. 



132 "OH, WOULD THE POWER," &C. 



" ©I), foouIU tfje pofoer," #c. 



0' 



^H, would the power, 
Oh, would the power, 
Were mine to say, 
" Love is for aye, love is for aye ! " 
That none should feel 
The treacherous steel 
Of lurking hate, 
All desolate ; 
That none should know 
The cruel blow 
Which leaves the smart 
Of broken heart. 
Oh, would the power, 
Oh, would the power, 
Were mine to say 
" Love is for aye, for aye and aye ! " 

June, 1880. 



THE TURNING LEAF. 1 33 



2Efje burning 3Leaf. 

HP HE elm is turning yellow, 
*- The woodbine rich with stain; 
The frost hath fringed the maple 
With crimson fire again. 
I hear the crisp corn rustle that's gathered into 

sheaves, 
And my heart stands still a moment to think of what 
it leaves. 

I pick the honeyed clover 

That blossoms at my feet : 
Ah, me ! long years are over 

Since first I found it sweet. 



134 THE TURNING LEAF. 

I hear the crisp corn rustle that's gathered into 

sheaves, 
And my heart stands still a moment to think of what 

it leaves. 

The sadness and the sweetness 

I ponder o'er and o'er; 
Nor sighing nor the gladness 
Is as it was before. 
I hear the crisp corn rustle that's gathered into 

sheaves, 
And my heart stands still a moment to think of all 
it leaves. 



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